


Positive Thinking

by MeltyRum



Category: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka, Persona 4, Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle, Wild Adapter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22167274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeltyRum/pseuds/MeltyRum
Summary: Our favorite detective nears the truth.
Kudos: 2
Collections: Boku no Hero Academia x Persona





	Positive Thinking

It was getting cold in the station, but Naoto preferred it that way. The mind always felt sharper with a bit of a chill, when the body wasn’t weighed down by the distraction and discomfort of the exhausting heat. Less chance of staining important documentation with a sweaty palm, to boot.

Even better, the place grew quiet as the hours marched on. While the Musutafu police station was practically never empty, when night had fallen and most of the officers concerned only with paperwork had taken their leave, the bustle subsided, leaving only a quiet contingent of men and women who were content to finish up their work and change shifts in relative silence. Many of the offices and meeting rooms were kept in darkness, left to gather dust until the next morning’s rush.

Naoto had chosen to occupy one of the smaller conference rooms in order to spread out her work, various manila folders and meticulously sorted documents covering the surface of the table, most of it within arm’s reach even while she was sitting. To the end of minimizing distractions, she had shut tight all of the blinds on the windows and the door, although it blocked out much of the light from the station’s atrium. Truth be told, she rather preferred the muted, dusty glow of the room’s own lights—plenty of light to see by, but also low enough that it made the mess of information in front of her seem less intimidating.

There were a lot of cases to inspect—too many, really—and Naoto still felt like she was only beginning trying to find a way of grouping them all together—of finding the pattern that might give her a line of reasoning for her brain to stick to.

Most of the information in any given case was only marginally useful, she was disappointed to find. This was no fault of the Musutafu police force—on the contrary, she actually found herself quite impressed with the thorough nature of their reporting—but the truth of the matter was that there was no simple way of seeing which cases might be related to another, barring a few exceptions… and even those exceptions could only be strung together by conjecture, or—worse—a separate conjecture based upon conjecture.

Ice quirks weren’t common, but they also weren’t rare enough to make her task simple. Not to mention ice could be weaponized without a quirk, or—messiest of all—the fact that ice _melted_ , making for crime scenes that often looked like your average stabbing when no other evidence turned up.

Still… Naoto knew that if solving this issue would have been simple, she never would have been asked to investigate it.

It began to look like trial and error. She was reluctant to discard any individual case of interest, but she also knew she would have to start narrowing things down _somewhere_. She looked to one closely-grouped pile of documents, where she’d placed a note which read—writ large with thick marker and romanized for further emphasis—“ASHURA OU”. The former politician had all but confessed to the most recent and numerous of the ice murders, but the confession itself was imprecise: as eager as Ashura was to implicate himself, his mental state had deteriorated so thoroughly that they could not get him to accurately name every victim. In his current—suspiciously remorseful—state, he would probably confess to just about any crime, if asked.

Couple this with the fact that—after Ashura’s detainment—the ice murders had _continued_ , and things grew even more perplexing. Was Ashura’s confession incomplete, or did he confess to even more evil than he had truly committed himself? Then, of course, the nature of the confession itself was incredibly suspect: the authorities would not have had their eyes on a politician with a spotless record, so whatever would motivate Ashura to ruin himself on national television? Was it the machinations of some quirk? Or did a near-death experience truly flip a moral switch inside him?

One thing was for certain: Ashura had certainly not committed the murders which had taken place _after_ his confession, which meant the perpetrator was still at large.

Look there first, then, she thought.

Naoto looked down at the documents spread directly in front of her, a catalog of the victims which could not have been Ashura’s doing. Most of them were rather successful people—not the types to be the random victim of botched robbery, and the circumstances of their deaths didn’t even seem to suggest such a thing. Rarely were they found dead in the middle of the street or in a bare alleyway—these weren’t the kinds of people to travel so imprudently. Many could afford bodyguards or personal drivers, so they would not expose themselves to random criminal activity.

So… start with them, then? The drivers and the bodyguards?

No. She shook her head, looking closely again at one of the dossiers. The victims’ backgrounds were too varied: some had unsavory reputations, while others’ (though admittedly fewer) were glowing. Some were born with power, while others earned it—or even held onto very little at their time of death. Sometimes it was the owner of a shoddy tenement, sometimes it was a heavily invested financial or technical officer in the corporate sector. Sometimes it was male, sometimes it was female. Sometimes they were in some way shattered, and other times they were impaled.

Bodyguards and drivers, in other words, were not common between them.

“‘Who benefits’, huh?” she whispered.

Naoto had hesitated to even ask herself that question, if only because the pattern for many of these murders seemed all too obvious. Following the fallout of each death—the changing hands of property, the execution of wills, the promotions and demotions—the effects of interest seemed to point into the city itself, twisting deeper down and toward other firms, some of which were legitimate, and some of which were obvious fronts. These murders were hits, marked for death by the seedy organizations who ran this city—or at least parts of it.

Yakuza. The word filled her with dread; you could not arrest a monolith.

She looked closer, refining the pile in front of her and even pulling in a few from before Ashura’s confession. Each death—with only few exceptions—was more like a small monetary adjustment. Without more research, the money could not be followed to a single destination, but it was clear even at a broad level: every corpse was a lever pulled, a dial turned, or a playing piece advanced. Each drop of blood was a gear turned in the machine of some gloomy economy which she could not see.

But she could hear it. Even if the fog and static prevented her from pinpointing the nature of the machine—of her enemy, of the culprit—she could hear it close by, and perhaps even make out its silhouette. Who was that fiddling with the controls there?

Her stack of research on the clans was already close by; many of their stronger officers were thankfully well-known to Naomasa and his men. She felt confident that one of the two largest clans would be behind this—or at least she knew that would be the best place to begin looking.

Choosing between the two would not be elementary, but she had to start somewhere.

The organizational changes in the Shimada Clan could not be ignored, but that could go both ways: perhaps the confusion of such a situation would create the perfect opportunity for a few mysterious deaths here or there. Some of the victims were likely affiliated with the Shimada Clan; with the rumors of infighting and intra-family tension in the past year, it was not at all impossible for an opportunistic officer or two to have arranged for a shortcut toward advancement—or the clandestine removal of an obstacle.

On the other hand, there was a distinct lack of victims on the side of the Tojo Clan—to the point where it almost seemed safe to hone in on them entirely. Neither of the clans’ officers had any known ice quirks, but it also made sense that an officer wouldn’t perform the hits firsthand. In any case, it was hard to ignore that the Tojo Clan seemed to suffer least and—at a glance—benefitted most from the murders; at least, _someone_ in the clan did.

She sat back, getting up from her seat and stroking her chin. No need for tunnel vision, she reminded herself. Certainly, the Tojo mon was practically screaming up at her from the table, but that was just the intervention of her instincts—her gut. It was simply the most obvious conclusion. And that wasn’t enough to go on.

But it was another good place to start.

Naoto wrote out another note reminding herself to return to the other clans, setting the minor and distant ones—along with the Shimada clan—aside. Then, walking the Tojo folders to a bare patch of table, she began to lay out her information on the officers, taking a careful look at each name and picture to make sure none of them were new to her. Any of these people would be capable of ordering a hit, it seemed—and just as willing, should the rewards be tempting enough.

“Who benefits?” she asked herself again, looking again at her list of victims and businesses—the list of dials and knobs. What changes did those adjustments cascade into? Whose pockets grew fatter? Whose course was paved?

Again: with what she knew now, it could be any of them, but that didn’t stop her from picking a few favorites. She rolled a whiteboard close to the edge of the table, taking some of the pictures and pinning them to it with magnets, making sure to notate them so that their corresponding dossiers would be easy to reference. After reviewing the ones she left upon the table, she stepped back to reexamine the whiteboard, prodding her chin with the end of a marker.

Dojima, Hasegawa, Aizawa, Sanada, Takaya, Matsunaga. As with every decision before, there were too many good candidates to eliminate any outright: she would have to use what she already knew to hone in on her strongest hypothesis. If nothing else, it would at least guide her toward the right people tomorrow—toward the right questions to ask them. She was somewhat confident that her current materials wouldn’t lead her to the culprit… but it would still take her many steps closer.

Using the backgrounds of the victims, she began making a tally of who would benefit most among these people. Naturally, it would make sense for all of them to have gained something from these deaths—it wasn’t at all impossible for them to all be working together. Even if only one of them coordinated the hit, it would be _more_ unusual for them not to be helping each other out, wouldn’t it? Either way, she would probably have to talk to Jean again—or whoever else knew the most about these people.

A mark for Hasegawa, a mark for Sanada…

However, even if their efforts were coordinated, _someone_ would have had to gain the most. Or at least the most often, or for the longest duration of time. The detective paused, looking at the marks she had already made, deciding to notate each one with a date before she moved on. There was some overlap here, but the picture was already getting a little bit clearer. She continued her tally, however, trying not to get hung up anywhere.

Marks for Hasegawa, Takaya, Matsunaga, Sanada…

Closer, she thought. But this was still the most obvious line of reasoning—not necessarily the one where the truth lie.

She set down all of her files, double- and triple- checking the tally that she had made. There it was, then. It was actually disheartening: one of these officers overshadowed the others by a handful of marks. The simplicity of it made Naoto suspicious, but… this was the thread she had chosen to follow first. It was only natural for it to be the most obvious one.

Stepping toward the whiteboard, she circled Sanada’s name twice before setting down her marker. She would need to dig for more information on his organization; what men or assassins did he have at his disposal? Would the police even know something like that? Or the nature of their quirks? She took a breath as she pondered it; the distance between her and the culprit still felt too large, but she tried not to let it frustrate her.

Come to think of it, though: wasn’t there something else regarding Sanada?

She looked back into his file. The most recent of the ice murders was quite some time ago, and shortly after that… yes: a civilian report. Someone was worried for their own safety. Naoto read over the statement once again, her very fingertips practically vibrating from the sheet in her hand, resonating with the message that she was holding something important. There was no way it could be coincidence. If Sanada was truly orchestrating the ice murders, then he must also have had something to do with their abrupt end.

But the end was not abrupt, was it? There had been a signal, and it was right in her hands. And those two people were even related… was that really just a coincidence?

She tensed as her phone suddenly began vibrating, answering immediately.

“Hey, Naoto-kun!” came a cheerful voice.

“Kujika—ahem—Rise-san! Is something the matter?” She couldn’t help but smile, hearing her voice. She glanced up to the clock, a little surprised to see how late it had gotten. Almost eleven… she knew what Rise would say before she said it.

“Huh? No, of course not!” Rise laughed a little. “We just secured a big room at that place. Not everyone’s here yet—Yosuke and Teddie are finishing up something—but I think they’re on their way. Except for Kanji-kun, I guess… we’re not sure if he’ll be able to make it tonight.” A very brief pause followed, unspoken words being exchanged between the two of them. “You’re still up for it though, right? Senpai won’t be around forever!”

Naoto looked down at the sheet in her hands, then back to Sanada’s picture pinned up on her whiteboard. “Yes, I should be able to make it. I’m not too far away. I’ll finish up my work and be on my way. Should I bring anything?”

“Nope! I think we’re all set here. Oh—but a pair of socks would be good to have. No shoes, you know.”

“Right,” Naoto chuckled, setting her work down. “I’ll see you there, then.”

“Great! Sorry for interrupting. We’ll be waiting!”

“Thanks, Rise-san,” said Naoto, bowing her head a little as she said it. When she hung up, she looked again at the messy table.

She would have to continue tomorrow. But before she left, perhaps she would be able to eliminate most of the Shimada Clan’s officers from suspicion. Returning to her seat, Naoto laid out the information she had gleaned on Shimada’s people, re-familiarizing herself with the names she should know.

“Who benefits?” she asked again, looking down at the array of information before her. She took another glance at the clock. If she used her quirk, she would have plenty of time.

With that in mind, she took a deep breath, focusing on what was before her as she let her quirk take over. What could be eliminated? What could be followed up? Time seemed to slow down, but her mind felt sharper and fresher than it had all day. She had less control over her vision than before, but it was enough for her to see what she wanted; the words streamed through her, flowing through her vision so that all she could see was the words, the photographs, the relevant data.

In her mind, puzzle pieces slotted together as she read and checked again and again, sitting still in her chair and calmly holding the armrests, unmoving save for an occasional shift in her calculating gaze, unaided—for the moment—by paper, pencil, or computer. For this case, it was almost too easy: the farther she went, the clearer it became that Shimada involvement in this case was increasingly unlikely. The minor clans, too: the more Naoto’s mind worked it over, the more convinced she became that it would be Tojo answering for these crimes—more precisely, Sanada—and more precisely than that, whoever it was he had hired.

When it was over—when her quirk ran its course—Naoto had to remind herself to breathe, closing her eyes as she tried to once again summarize everything to herself. She would leave a note to start from in the morning—not that she expected to forget. Another glance at the clock reassured her: a lot of work had been done, but it was still not yet eleven.

After locking the conference room behind her, Naoto took her leave. She wouldn’t have to think so hard in the company of her friends—a thought she took comfort in.

The next day’s investigating resumed where it had left off, only Naoto didn’t visit the station just yet; there was someone she needed to meet, first—someone who she hoped would elucidate the fog which enshrouded the killer’s identity. If Sanada was truly the man at the machine—the man pulling its levers, flipping the switches—that still did not give Naoto the complete picture. Sanada can’t touch the gears himself. He needed a tool. But who?

Her destination was an impressive building: its size and location were quite desirable. When Naoto was finished at the apartment the police had provided for her, perhaps she would have to return here as a customer.

For now, though, she made her way to the office, knocking on the door with the appropriate name plate. “Excuse me. My name is Naoto Shirogane; I contacted you earlier this morning?”

The door opened almost immediately, and Naoto was greeted with a practiced smile. “Good afternoon, Shirogane-san! I remember. Please come in; sit wherever you’d like.” Young, pretty, blonde, blue-eyed… she almost looked like the sort of human that Yamagishi’s Aigis might have been modeled after.

Naoto did as she was bid, taking a seat at one of the two chairs beside the desk. She was surprised at the modesty of the office: other than the chairs, desk, and computer, the only thing of note was a little cardboard box—the kind you would get at a pastry shop—resting on the windowsill.

“I know how odd this question sounds,” Naoto began. “But you are Lotta Otus, correct? The landlord?”

“That’s right,” replied Lotta, smiling as she took her seat across the desk from Naoto. “Is there something the police needs with me? Since you came all the way here alone, I’m guessing I’m not in trouble.”

“No, not at all,” Naoto assured her, nodding. “Rather, I wanted to ask you about an incident you reported some time ago. I am currently investigating a case which may be tangentially related to that, so I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Lotta sat forward, resting her elbows on the desk as she threaded her fingers together. “Something I reported?” Lotta looked up at the ceiling for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I can only remember one, so you must be talking about the threat.”

“Right,” agreed Naoto, pulling a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and holding it in her lap. “You reported a threat against you and expressed interest in police protection. Can you tell me what you remember of that day? Anything you told the officers, I would like you to tell me as well.”

“Alright…” Lotta mused, tilting her head this way and that as she tried to jog her memory. “If it’s okay for me to start at the beginning, I was just spending time in my apartment—that’s in this building, too—when I got a knock. That’s not really unusual: my brother lives here, too, and we have friends which visit pretty frequently. Some of my tenants know where I live, too, though they’re only supposed to visit me for emergencies if I’m not in the office.”

“When you say your brother, you mean Jean Otus, correct?”

“Yep!” Lotta smiled. “If you work with the police, you probably already know him, right?”

“We’re acquainted, yes.” Naoto searched Lotta’s face carefully. So far, everything was consistent. “My apologies for interrupting—please continue. Someone knocked on your door?”

“Right. I didn’t open right away, though, because they were covering the peephole—suspicious, right? I asked who they were, and…” she trailed off, curiously tapping her chin in thought.  
“And…?” Naoto prompted.

To Naoto’s surprise, Lotta assumed a deeper voice, doing what was apparently her best impression of some sort of street tough: “‘Someone’s got an offer to make you; if you don’t open up and take it, you might as well count your life forfeit!’ Something like that.” She smiled, looking like she hadn’t been very afraid at all.

“Was that… the entire conversation?” asked Naoto. She pinched the paper in her lap.

“Not entirely. I told him to go away or I’d call the cops, then he said that the next time someone came I would probably be dead.” She laughed a little, as though she no longer believed a word of it. “Obviously, I’m still here, so maybe they gave up?”

“Do you know what they were after?”

“Hmm. He didn’t say, but it has to be the apartment, right? I don’t really have anything else that would interest someone like that. I suppose it could be related to my brother?”

Naoto was doubtful of that, but it was something else to consider. “You have no enemies you can think of?”

“No enemies!” She shook her head confidently. It was easy to believe it.

“Are you sure there wasn’t anything else? Your original report has a little more detail,” explained Naoto, beginning to unfold the paper.

“Well, it was a while ago now,” Lotta observed. “That was the gist of it, at least. Maybe it was a prank, since they never came back.”

“I’m not so sure.” Naoto slid the sheet of paper across Lotta’s desk. “In your statement back then, you added that the name ‘Sanada’ was mentioned by the man who threatened you.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right!” Lotta looked pleased to recognize it.

“Do you happen to know anyone by that name?”

“No idea,” she admitted, shaking her head again. “I’m sure I’ve met some, of course, but like I said: no enemies.”

“Alright, then.” Naoto sat back in her seat, watching Lotta carefully. “Allow me to explain: I believe the man who threatened you was referring to Setsuna Sanada, a high-ranking officer in the Tojo Clan. As you might expect, he gets involved in a lot of bad business: sometimes, this means harming civilians in order to earn himself a chance at their property. I believe you’re correct in guessing that he was after your apartment complex. That’s ‘Sanada’.”

“Ah! This is starting to sound familiar. Maybe the police mentioned him when I reported it.” Lotta smiled again.

Naoto frowned. Lotta didn’t seem like a bad person, but why did it feel like she was being played around with? “If a powerful member of the yakuza was targeting you, Otus-san, then why do you think he didn’t make good on his threat? The truth is that your case is unusual: historically speaking, Sanada isn’t the type to make threats _at all_.”

“So… not a prank?”

Naoto was slightly taken aback. Why…? Why did it seem like Lotta was playing dumb? “I highly doubt it. You’re also aware that several cameras were damaged?”

“Yes, of course. I had to order the repairs.”

“Do you think a _prankster_ would go through the trouble of destroying your cameras in order to shout at you through your door?” asked Naoto, watching Lotta seriously.

“Maybe not…” conceded Lotta, the smile slowly disappearing from her face. Clearly, she was not appreciating Naoto’s interrogative tone. “But I obviously was not attacked, after all, and I still own the apartment building. Doesn’t that make it seem like there’s no longer an issue?”

Naoto held her tongue for a moment, considering her response. “I’m surprised, Otus-san. You must be quite a brave person if you’re content to believe that your life is no longer in danger, especially after having it threatened by someone who I think we can agree was quite serious.”

Lotta shrugged, smiling broadly again. “Life has to go on. I have work to do, you know? I’m glad that you seem concerned for me, Shirogane-san—but it’s not something I can afford to think about all the time. It’s easier to think of it as a closed chapter, and I have Jean if I’m ever in trouble.Do _you_ still believe my life is in danger?”

Naoto blinked, a little surprised to be asked so directly. She smiled and closed her eyes, wondering how to answer. “To be honest, Otus-san… no. I do not believe you are in danger any longer. I think that if Sanada truly wanted your property, he would not have sent someone to threaten you so boldly—more than that, I believe you would already be gone if he still desired it.”

Lotta sat in satisfied silence, letting Naoto’s words hang in the air for a minute. “Then it sounds like we are agreed, Shirogane-san. But why are you here, if you think I’m in no danger?”

Naoto nodded. “A good question. Because I believe you _thought_ you were in danger, at some point. I believe someone _did_ visit you at your apartment, but I do not think it was to deliver a threat. That man was an assassin. What I am trying to understand is why he failed to accomplish what he came for. And more importantly… after failing, why did your assassin never kill again? Why was there never a second attempt by another assassin?”

Lotta sat up straight, the smile draining from her face again, suddenly looking quite serious. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. I don’t know why you think I can answer these questions, Shirogane-san.”

She was close. Naoto could tell just by looking into Lotta’s eyes. Some of the biggest pieces were still missing, but everything was _here_ , somewhere. It was impossible to say why, but it was clear that Lotta was hiding the truth, even if she wasn’t a criminal—even if she was still technically a would-be victim in this story.

But if Naoto was being deceived… why? What for? For who?

“Otus-san,” began Naoto, measuring every word carefully. “Who are you covering for?”

Lotta was quiet.

“Can I tell you what my current hypothesis is?” asked Naoto.

Silence, still. She’d probably better say her piece before Lotta ushered her out of the office.

“I’ll rewind a little… this is confidential, but the case I’m investigating is the series of ice murders that have taken place in this city. I believe that you were almost one of the victims. This murderer with the ice quirk is an assassin who Sanada employed in order to further his ambitions. A majority of the victims’ deaths ended up benefiting him directly—just as yours likely would have, had he gotten the chance to move forward with it.

“This assassin, then, eventually came after you. He destroyed your cameras, came to your door, and… unfortunately, there’s a gap in my scenario here; I don’t know exactly what happened after that. But for whatever reason, he was unable to kill you as he was instructed, and then he never killed again. I feel there are only a handful of situations that might have caused this to happen, the most likely of which is that you fended off the murderer yourself and killed him in self-defense.”

To Naoto’s satisfaction, Lotta laughed a little bit. “You think I killed an assassin? Do I look that strong?”

“No; I don’t think you killed anyone, either. That’s just the most obvious guess as to what happened, looking solely at the fact that the murderer never resurfaced after he came for you. I think there’s some reason he must have stopped.” Naoto crossed her arms, looking thoughtful for a moment. “I don’t like to rely on the sentiments of criminals, but perhaps our killer had a change of heart after meeting you, Otus-san.”

Lotta, again, receded into silence. She was a good actress, Naoto had to admit—but she was probably also an honest person, at heart. Most people were.

“I’m betting that the killer was not previously acquainted with you,” Naoto reasoned. “If he was, he would have had little reason to visit you in the first place. He would have known to reject the job or gone into hiding then and there, so that you never would have heard from him. But he came here, didn’t he? Did you really only speak to him through the door, Otus-san? He didn’t just threaten you, did he? You must have some idea who he was!”

Naoto stopped herself, feeling a shock of remorse at having gotten so excited. She didn’t want to scare or upset her witness, even if appearances might suggest otherwise. Taking a breath, she searched Lotta’s eyes and face, looking for any sign that might indicate she was correct. There had to be some reason that Lotta didn’t want to share her information.

“This murderer,” Lotta started, looking at the space just above Naoto’s head. “You’ve assumed that he’s no longer killing people, right? That’s pretty much what brought you here, after all. If that’s the case, then aren’t you chasing someone who’s already given up their life of crime?”

Naoto frowned. “What are you suggesting? That he should not be brought to justice? That’s not how the law works; a criminal doesn’t get to decide to hang up his hat and walk free, regardless of their crimes or the person they have become.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” She raised her hands disarmingly. “It just sounds to me like you’re making a lot of assumptions, detective. Guessing. Maybe he’s killing people but is no longer using ice.”

“I admit it’s possible, but then the questions barely change: why did he change his method after failing to kill you?”

Lotta ignored the question. “Also—you asked this yourself—even if that killer failed, why wouldn’t Sanada send another assassin to finish the job?”

A thin, regretful smile spread across Naoto’s lips. “Indeed. Why would that be? This assassin was being paid by Sanada—a very dangerous man—to end someone’s life. I hope you’ll pardon my intrusion, but I’ve seen your medical record, Otus-san, so I know your quirk isn’t suited for defense or combat; I also doubt that you could fight off a hired killer on your own. So if you didn’t fight him off, he must have retreated… because he does not want to use his powers to harm good people. Then he stopped, either because he quit working for Sanada—or he was disposed of. Personally, I think they cut a deal.” Or hoped that was the case, at least.

Lotta looked a little confused. “Backing up, I don’t understand how you come to that conclusion, Shirogane-san. Why would an assassin—one working for the yakuza, no less—care about whether their victim was ‘good’? How would they tell?”

“How he could tell, I’m not sure yet,” Naoto admitted, giving her a compromising nod. “But something I know about our killer—that you, perhaps, do not—is that he favors murdering criminals. There is a dramatic shift in the pattern of the murders, as it turns out: before the string of murders which grew Sanada’s business, the killer’s victims consisted solely of other violent criminals. Naturally, it’s possible that these killings were done by separate people, but I don’t think the facts support such a scenario: when you look at the attempt on your life in this light, everything begins to make sense.”

Lotta appeared to be listening carefully, occasionally nodding along as Naoto explained. “That makes sense, I suppose,” she conceded. “But only if you don’t believe what I’ve told you, Shirogane-san.”

“Right.” Naoto tried not to let her exasperation show through. “As I mentioned, I don’t believe the nature of your conversation with the killer was as you described in your report. I think you must have spoken to him… and I think you may even know who he was.”

Lotta sighed through her nostrils, sitting back in her seat. After a moment of thought, she looked back to Naoto. “You said that you think they cut a deal. Why?”

“Because if the killer was dead, you wouldn’t be protecting him this way—we wouldn’t still be having this conversation,” she insisted, feeling like she was getting ever-closer, like Lotta’s defenses were easing up with every moment. “You won’t get in trouble by talking to me, Otus-san. Even if you believe he’s no longer dangerous, that is a decision that should be left to the court. Is your report inaccurate? Did you learn Sanada’s name some other way?”

Lotta watched Naoto very carefully, apparently being cautious to prevent herself from giving anything away. She still hadn’t even admitted to having delivered a false report, after all—hadn’t confessed to knowing her would-be killer; this was alldeduction on Naoto’s part, but it hungered for more evidence to support it. Lotta had been smart so far: she spoke as if she were only entertaining a hypothetical, testing Naoto’s logic for her own satisfaction. Lotta was protecting someone, certainly, but she was protecting herself first and foremost, it seemed.

“If you know who came to visit you that day,” started Naoto, looking Lotta in the eye. This woman knew something. If she could just get the complete story, it could dramatically accelerate the investigation. And if she refused… Naoto would still find a way. The truth will out, she reminded herself. That had always been the case.

“Please, Otus-san. Can you tell me?”

When their conversation had finished, the sun had reached the apex of its journey across the sky. Of course, that was just a matter of perspective. With limited information, it was completely reasonable to assume that the sun spun around the Earth… but there was always another layer of information to be found which could change everything. Even though she had followed the most obvious path—allowed both her logic and her instincts to lead her here—she hoped there was no hidden layer here.

Naoto pulled her hat down tighter, trying to block out the sun’s radiance, instead looking down at her phone. There were people she needed to speak to.

Hopefully, Jean would be back at the station.


End file.
